


Would You Stay

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fantastic Beasts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Post-Movie(s), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Newt gets himself into a very bad situation, and Tina, Percival, and Queenie are stuck not only with caring for a magical menagerie- but with keeping their 'mummy' alive when the mishap leaves him at Death's door. It's more trouble than even they could imagine; and Percival finds out that he might have a soft spot for awkward, shy redheads with a case of deadly creatures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For two (!) kink meme prompts:  
> http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=37579#cmt37579  
> and  
> http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=79563#cmt79563
> 
> Thanks for the prompt, friends. It was right up my alley, and I hope I did it justice! I didn't intend for it to end up with such heavy shades of Percival/Newt, but, well...these characters are just about as controllable as a Niffler in a jewelry store.
> 
> \- Story

Newt Scamander was late, and Tina Goldstein was _not_ worried.

 

She wasn’t. Really. A man like that- who knew what distractions he might find in such a huge city? No, she wasn’t worried a bit; only mad at herself that she hadn’t had the time to go and meet him at the docks like she planned. She simply couldn’t pull herself away from this case when they were so close to pinning down the traffickers they’d been pursuing. Of all people, Newt would surely understand the importance of that.

 

But he’d said he would send word when he reached the spot they planned to meet, which was safely away from the MACUSA headquarters, where he and his infamous case might be recognized. There had been no word, and she’d thought he would surely reach their meeting spot by mid-morning.

 

That was hours ago.

 

Okay, so she might be a little worried. But Newt was a grown man; he could take care of himself. He’d been doing so for years while hunting down deadly creatures. There were no creatures in New York City that could give him pause.

 

None but the ones he was carrying, anyway. But she’d made him promise to take extra precautions with his case this time.

 

“Ms. Goldstein?”

 

Tina jumped in surprise, looking up from where she’d been staring into the fireplace in the room that the investigative team shared. She found none other than Percival Graves standing mere feet away, and she scolded herself for not noticing; her mind was far too distracted by Newt’s tardiness.

 

“Mr. Graves,” she greeted with a tired smile. “You’re looking better today.”

 

And he was. It had taken them a while to track down where Grindelwald had him captive, and even longer to untangle the web of curses keeping him comatose; it had taken another correspondence with Scamander to figure out that it was only partly curses, and the rest was the potent venom of a peculiar subspecies of Peruvian Vipertooth keeping Graves from waking.

 

In truth, Graves owed Newt his life twice over.

 

“I feel better, thank you,” Graves said with a dismissive nod, though his tone held little gratitude. He wasn’t the type to show it, so it was no surprise. “How is the case going?”

 

Tina sighed heavily. “Waiting on my Aurors to return. I was spotted the last time we caught up with the traffickers; I didn’t want to risk them seeing me again and blowing our cover,” she explained. “The lead is sound, though.”

 

As if on cue, the door opened and two Aurors entered, looking breathless and frazzled. “Ms. Goldstein, the warehouse was abandoned. Couldn’t have been an hour before we got there,” one of them said, and Tina went stiff.

 

“And the creatures?”

 

The other Auror shook his head. “All the cages were empty. Bits of rope lying about. It seems they moved on in a hurry.”

 

Tina was about to interrogate them further when Graves suddenly stepped forward, staring at the hem of the Auror’s coat. “What is _that_?” he asked, and Tina followed his gaze to see a line of bright green on the Auror’s black coat.

 

And it was moving.

 

Her heart leapt into her throat as she rushed forward and knelt down, reaching out to detach the small, frightened creature from the fabric. Sure enough, it was a Bowtruckle, and if she wasn’t mistaken…

 

“…Pickett?” she breathed out, and the exhausted looking twig of a thing nodded and started up with a stream of panicked, high-pitched noises. Tina felt her stomach clench in a sudden burst of worry.

 

Pickett wouldn’t leave Newt’s side unless something had gone horribly wrong.

 

“Tina, what is that thing?” Graves asked, an edge of impatience to his voice.

 

“A Bowtruckle. More specifically, Newt Scamander’s Bowtruckle, Pickett,” Tina explained, standing up slowly so as not to jostle the scared creature.

 

“He’s back in the city? And he’s released more beasts?”

 

“No, no, Pickett didn’t stay in the case,” Tina said, earning an incredulous look from Graves, and she quickly amended her words. “He has a touch of…separation anxiety? He most often travels in Ne- Mr. Scamander’s coat pocket. He hates to be away from him.”

 

“Then why is it _here_?”

 

Tina looked up at the two confused looking Aurors, and then to Graves, unable to hide the worry on her face now. Because if Pickett had been anywhere near her Aurors, that meant that Newt had been near the trafficker’s hideout.

 

If any man were prone to getting himself involved in a dangerous case involving illegal trafficking of beasts, well- this was that man.

 

“We need to find Newt,” Tina insisted, formalities forgotten for the moment. She turned to the two Aurors. “I want full reports on my desk by the time I return,” she ordered, and the two Aurors nodded and left. Graves gave Tina a firm look.

 

“We?”

 

“I may need your help if Newt has gotten himself into trouble with these traffickers,” Tina explained, giving Graves a pleading look. “Please, Mr. Graves.”

 

The unsaid ‘you owe him this much’ hung thick in the air, and Graves only hesitated for a moment before he sighed. “Fine. I suppose someone should be tracking him down and keeping an eye on him and his case, anyway,” he muttered, and Tina took out her wand and took hold of Graves’ sleeve, apparating them both in a moment to the place she was supposed to meet Newt.

 

The narrow alleyway was empty, as she’d expected. She held up Pickett to look the creature in the eye. “Can you lead us to him?” she asked, and the Bowtruckle nodded once and gestured to the east with one spindly limb. Graves didn’t look as if he liked the idea of following directions from a Bowtruckle, but to his credit, he went along without complaint.

 

“I’m going to kill that man if he got himself into trouble again,” Tina muttered as they made their way down the narrow side streets.

 

“Why is he back in New York?” Graves asked, and even under the irritation in his voice, Tina could tell there were hints of concern. Curiosity, even.

 

“He needed to get to Indiana. There’s talk of multiple people there being killed by a Lethifold,” Tina explained, and Graves frowned.

 

“Those are native to the tropics,” he said, and Tina gave him a surprised look- mainly because when Newt had first mentioned Lethifolds to her, she’d had only a vague idea of what they were from scary stories she’d heard as a child, and she’d had to do some research to figure out just why it was such a big deal. But here was Graves, speaking as if he were some authority on the subject.

 

“Which means that it’s probably here because someone brought it to the states illegally,” she explained. “He wants to find it before the authorities do so it’s not killed.”

 

“It _should_ be killed. Its natural prey is humans,” Graves pointed out in a mutter, but Tina pretended she didn’t hear him.

 

If Graves saw half of what Newt was keeping in that case, he would probably have a fit, after all.

 

Tina recognized Newt’s case the moment she turned the corner. It was lying closed in an alleyway, and there was rope on the ground beside it- it seemed he’d had it tied closed, just as she’d requested, but he’d obviously needed to get into it in a hurry. She rushed over to it, but stopped a few feet away when she saw the red smear across the pavement beside it.

 

Blood. Her worry was quickly turning into dread.

 

“Come on,” she said to Graves, setting Pickett on her shoulder and opening up the suitcase without bothering to knock.

 

“Wait, we’re not going in there, are we?” Graves asked as he grabbed onto Tina’s arm to stop her. “Do you even know what he keeps in there?”

 

“….some of them,” Tina admitted, and then she tugged her arm away. “It doesn’t matter. He might be _hurt_ , Percival. We have to help him.”

 

There was a long pause as Graves studied her with dark eyes and an unreadable expression; she almost thought he would refuse, but then he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“Fine,” he said, gesturing to the case. “Lead on, then.”

 

It seemed that the fact that Graves owed Newt his life was winning out over his caution. Tina gave him a grateful look, and then climbed down into the case.

 

The first thing she noticed was that it was loud. The creatures were obviously worked up, upset, and Tina’s feet had barely touched the floor before the Demiguise was clutching to her knee and looking up at her with wide, scared, golden eyes.

 

“Ssh, it’s alright,” she insisted, stroking the fur on its head as Graves climbed down behind her. “Where’s your mummy, darling?”

 

She heard Graves snort at her words, but she knew that these animals could be dangerous, and right now she needed to keep them calm until she figured out what was going on. If that meant speaking to them like Newt would, she would do it. Luckily, the Demiguise seemed to feel the urgency of the situation, and he led the way outside of the small shack that made up the ‘entrance’ to the case.

 

Normally, the first thing to catch her eye would have been the Erumpent peering in from the plains nearby, or the Niffler peering out of its tree stuffed full of shiny trinkets. But when she saw Newt, the creatures were the last thing on her mind- well, most of them.

 

Newt lay unmoving on the ground- he looked dead. Pale, still, and sprawled on his back, his shirt and blue coat stained dark red with blood. Beside him lay a creature nearly as big as he was, and it didn’t look to be in much better shape.

 

“A manticore,” Graves breathed out as he caught up to her. “What the _hell_ was he doing with a manticore?”

 

“The traffickers must have had it,” Tina breathed out, the sight of the nearly mythical beast catching her off guard. The creature had a face eerily human-like and the body of a lion, but its tail was that of a scorpion, tipped with venomous barbs. There were scars and matted fur layered around its neck, its coat was patchy and dull, and there was a bandage half-wound around its front leg. The creature was obviously near death; its breath was coming in laborious gasps and moans, and it didn’t even lift its head when they came closer.

 

“Tina, don’t,” Graves said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The sting of a manticore is _instantly_ fatal.”

 

_Instantly fatal._

“Newt!” Tina cried out, the word desperate, torn from her throat like a plea as she yanked away from Graves and rushed to her friend’s side, manticore be damned. Luckily for her, the creature only twitched and gasped pitifully as she came within reach; she was only barely aware of it as the manticore drew its last breath and went still.

 

“Newt, please,” she said, and she dropped to her knees beside the redhead and immediately reached out to feel for a pulse. For a moment, she felt nothing- then, the barest hint of a thready pulse beneath her fingers. She lifted her head to look at Graves with desperation in her eyes. “He’s alive! Percival, we have to do something!”

 

Graves looked between the manticore and the fallen wizard with a frown. “It’s not fully grown. Its venom must not have reached its full potency,” he said, finally moving to Tina’s side to kneel beside Newt. This close, it was easier to see the faint signs of life; the shallow, halted breaths, and the sheen of sweat to his fever-hot skin.

 

“Tina, there’s no treatment for this. No cure. No one has ever survived the sting of a manticore,” he said, and Tina let out a frustrated huff.

 

“We have to try,” she insisted. “We have to. He saved my life, and he saved yours. We owe him this much, Graves. He would do the same for either of us.”

 

With or without Graves’ help, she planned to do whatever she could, and she started with what she did know how to deal with. She unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as her fingers could move, taken aback for a moment by the multitude of scars crisscrossing the wizard’s chest- though it made sense, given his occupation. It wasn’t her main concern right now, anyway; she tugged the shirt and coat aside to find the source of the bleeding, which seemed to be two deep claw marks on his side.

 

“Go and see if he has any essence of dittany in his supply room,” she said, not hesitating to toss out orders, even if Graves was technically her superior. He didn’t bother arguing the point, anyway; he went to the small entrance shack and started searching, and Tina carefully looked Newt over for any other wounds.

 

She found a deep puncture on his left shoulder- that must have been where the manticore stung him. It seemed that he’d run across the traffickers and managed to save the manticore, though it was a bit too late- the creature was obviously close to death, and likely wouldn’t have survived even with Newt’s best efforts.

 

But of course he’d tried anyway. She wouldn’t expect any less from him.

 

Pickett made a worried, almost anguished noise from her shoulder, and Tina tried to give the creature a reassuring look. “It’s alright, Pickett. He’ll be fine,” she insisted, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. “Mr. Graves and I will take care of him. He’ll be back on his feet before you know it, alright?”

 

Pickett didn’t seem convinced, and really, Tina didn’t blame him; after all, Newt was barely clinging to life at the moment, that much was obvious. At least the creatures had quieted down now that help had arrived.

 

“Found it,” Graves said, returning from the storage room with a small glass jar in hand, and Tina nodded and sighed in relief.

 

“Good. I’m going to get Queenie; we’ll need her help too. And I’ll move his case out of this alley. While I’m gone, can you apply that to his wounds and move him to his bed?” she asked as she stood, and Graves looked a bit shocked for a moment- probably surprised that Tina was suddenly tossing orders at him.

 

“I…I suppose I-“

 

“Thank you,” she interrupted with a grateful smile, artfully cutting off any objections he might have had. “I’ll be back soon. Just…don’t go in any of the exhibits.”

 

With that, Tina swept by him and back to the ladder that led to the surface. Graves sighed heavily- it was going to be a long day, he knew it.

 

* * *

 

 

Graves set to work immediately, despite any misgivings about the situation. After all, Tina was right about one thing; if all the accounts were to be believed, Graves did owe Scamander his life. He’d been the only one to see through the disguise, the only one to realize that it wasn’t just a curse in place to keep Graves trapped in a comatose limbo.

 

He carefully lifted the other wizard in his arms, not sure if using magic on their owner- he refused to say ‘mummy’- would upset the creatures that seemed to be peering out at him from every nook and cranny; he even had the Bowtruckle climbing on his shoulder, as if to supervise his every move. It was unnerving, but he’d worked in stranger conditions.

 

Not by much, to be sure.

 

The other wizard was tall, awkward to carry, but slender enough that it wasn’t too much trouble getting him to the small bed in a nearby room. The living area was small, just big enough for a bed, a chest of drawers, and some shelving that was crowded with horns, bones, and tied locks of fur. Graves laid Newt down on the bed and carefully set to work removing his coat and shirt, tossing the articles of clothing on top of the chest of drawers.

 

“You really don’t do things in half-measures, do you?” he muttered as he examined the wounds. He was half afraid his patient would die right before his eyes; the fact that he was alive at all was beyond belief.

 

It had to be a combination of the manticore’s youth and poor health that diluted the potency of its venom. It was a good thing, of course- but at the same time, it meant Graves had no idea what to expect. He didn’t even know if it was possible to recover from this.

 

He carefully applied the essence of dittany to the claw marks and the puncture wound, and the wounds immediately began to close up. It would do nothing for the venom coursing its way through the young wizard, but it couldn’t hurt.

 

If only he had some phoenix tears handy- but those weren’t exactly something you could buy at the local potions shop. In fact, he’d never seen them in all his years of being an Auror. Unicorn blood was out of the question too, and illegal anyway.

 

Graves hesitated a moment, and then reached out and pressed his hand to Newt’s forehead. The man didn’t show any signs of waking, and he was still drenched in sweat, his skin uncomfortably hot to the touch. Graves grabbed a hand towel from the bedside table and quietly cast a cooling spell on it, then folded the cold cloth and laid it across Newt’s forehead carefully.

 

If the fever didn’t let up soon, they would need to find some other way of bringing it down. There were probably spells for it, but nothing Graves had memorized. It wasn’t as if he spent much time caring for the ill.

 

Newt began to stir a bit, and Graves sat up a little straighter in concern, trying to make sense of what the redhead was feverishly muttering. It didn’t sound like English- might not have been, with how much travel the man had done- and soon those green eyes were fluttering open, though they looked dazed and unfocused.

 

Though when they somewhat focused on Graves, the expression turned to a confused panic, and Graves cursed under his breath. Of course Newt would panic- waking up like this, with Graves hovering over him. Newt of course knew that Graves had been rescued, and that Grindelwald was still in custody, but Graves didn’t expect him to remember all that in the state he was currently in.

 

“It’s alright, Mr. Scamander,” he said, trying to speak softly, though he had to fumble to grab Newt’s wand away from him when it was the first thing he reached for. He slipped it into his jacket with his own for now, safely out of the way, before Newt could do anything too hasty.

 

“Grind-…you’re, you’re not…I c-can’t….” Newt said, the words coming out slurred, disjointed, but the moment he started to try to move, the confused expression became agony. He made a choked noise of pain and went stiff, and Graves set one hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn’t try to move again.

 

“Calm down. I’m not…not him,” he said firmly, unwilling to even say that name. It felt like poison on his tongue when he tried. “You got stung by that manticore, but…you’re going to be alright.”

 

The comforting lie didn’t come naturally. It sounded stilted and awkward, but it didn’t seem to matter, as Newt was already starting to fade away again, back into the haze of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered shut again, and he said something else, though it was impossible to sort out the words.

 

It took Graves a few moments to sort out the wave of emotion that came after- concern. Worry. And gratitude, too, considering everything this mysterious man had done for him. He hadn’t expected to ever have the opportunity to thank him, not with an ocean between them, and now obviously wasn’t the right time either, not with Newt out of his mind with pain and fever.

 

A fever that wasn’t getting any better. In fact, when Graves lifted the cool cloth, it didn’t seem to have helped at all. He briefly wondered what was taking Tina so long- had she chosen to walk instead of apparate? Were there too many No-Maj’s around?

 

Either way, he couldn’t let Newt continue to boil like this. A fever this high would do permanent damage, he knew that much. But he didn’t have time to go searching for the right spell or the right ingredients for a potion.

 

He would have to get creative, it seemed.

 

He lifted the ailing wizard into his arms, carefully cradling the slender man against his chest as he carried him out of the small living space. He looked around at the various exhibits- plains, forest, moonlit fields, craggy rocks, nothing like what he was looking for.

 

Tina told him not to go in the exhibits, but he didn’t have much choice unless he wanted to watch Newt die in his arms. And somehow, a part of him had latched on to the idea that he couldn’t allow that to happen.

 

He walked through the forest exhibit and past what looked like a rock formation covered in worrying, shuffling mooncalves, and he shifted uncertainly until he felt a cold breeze. He turned toward it and saw the entrance to another exhibit, this one a snowy tundra.

 

Perfect- now he just had to hope the inhabitant was friendly.

 

He stepped through the flap into the ankle deep snow, his heart beating harder in his chest as he began to realize how utterly lifeless Newt felt in his arms. He quickly stepped into the harsh, cold wind that had been conjured for the habitat, and then knelt down and halfway set Newt down in the snow, holding him in a sitting up position to let the wind hit more of his overheated skin.

 

“Come on,” he urged, using his free hand to push Newt’s sweat soaked hair back from his forehead. He tried to keep one eye out for any beasts hiding in the snowy landscape, but there didn’t seem to be anything. “You’ve made it this long, don’t slip away from us now.”

 

It was a tense minute or so before Graves began to feel like he wasn’t holding a live fire in his arms, and about that time, he heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder just as Tina and Queenie peered in, one with relief, and the other with curiosity.

 

“There you are,” Tina breathed out. “What happened?”

 

“His fever spiked,” Queenie said softly, and Graves gave her a look of clear warning to stay out of his mind. He’d never been comfortable around her, for that one reason.

 

“Had to get his fever down or he wouldn’t have lasted long,” he explained to Tina, pressing his hand to Newt’s forehead once more. “I think he’s alright for now.”

 

‘Alright’ being relative to where he had been before. Newt was nowhere near out of danger yet. Nonetheless, Graves picked up the unconscious wizard and carried him back to his room, laying him on the bed with more care than many would have expected out of a man with such an ill-tempered reputation.

 

He ignored the look he knew Queenie was giving him. Of course he was going to treat this particular man with kindness; Newt had saved his life. There was nothing else to it.

 

“Has he improved any? Other than the fever?” Tina asked softly, and Graves shook his head.

 

“No. He woke for a few moments, but he was…incoherent,” he said, and silence hung in the air for a few moments, thick and uncomfortable.

 

“Well,” Tina finally said. “Let’s get to work, then. His creatures need to be fed; I can take care of that. Queenie, his manuscript draft was on the table in the supply room- go see if there’s anything he’s written about manticores that could give us something to work with. Mr. Graves, if you could…keep an eye on him until I’m done with the creatures…?”

 

The last bit was said with uncertainty, as if Tina expected a refusal- which, if this were any other sick patient, she probably would have gotten one. Graves had better things to do than look after someone who was likely on their deathbed.

 

But this wasn’t just any person.

 

“I’ll watch over him,” he said with a nod as he pulled a nearby chair away from the wall and sat it beside the bed. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

 

Tina smiled in relief. “Thank you. I shouldn’t take too long, unless the creatures give me trouble for…well, not being their mummy,” she said, though the joke was weak. She hesitated a moment longer before she left the room, and Queenie watched Graves curiously for a few seconds before she also turned and left.

 

Graves was left alone with Newt- or, he thought he was alone, until the Bowtruckle hopped out of his coat pocket and landed on the edge of the bed. The stick-like creature climbed up to Newt’s shoulder and made soft, worried sounds, pushing at Newt’s shoulder with spindly ‘hands’.

 

“Let him rest,” Graves said sternly, and then he chuckled and shook his head. “Listen to me. I’m talking to a Bowtruckle. I must have lost my mind.”

 

For that, he received a rude noise in return from Pickett, who looked rather put off by Graves’ comment. Somehow, Graves wasn’t all that concerned about hurting the feelings of a Bowtruckle, but he didn’t press the matter. If the creature wanted to stay close and watch over its owner- owner, not mummy- then Graves wouldn’t be the one to stop it. No point in making the effort.

 

Though he did have one thing in common with the Bowtruckle right now- that infuriating feeling of helplessness. He was out of his league here, and it was a feeling that he couldn’t stand. He wanted to be angry at Newt- after all, what wizard in their right mind would take on a group of traffickers, free a wounded, traumatized manticore, and then try to administer first aid?

 

But honestly, he wasn’t surprised. He’d heard much about who Newt Scamander was and what he’d done, and this was the furthest thing from out of character for him. This was what he did with his whole life- get into bad situations in the hopes of saving a creature that no one else in their right mind would go near.

 

It was admirable, even in its insanity. Admirable unless you considered the fact that if Newt had been killed by the manticore- or indeed, if he died tonight from his wounds and the venom running through his veins- the rest of his menagerie would be in jeopardy.

 

Graves hadn’t thought about that until now. With Newt lying before him, breathing labored, skin still hot to the touch, Graves wondered what they would do with the creatures if the magizoologist didn’t make it through the night. Graves surely didn’t have time to take care of them, and Tina and Queenie didn’t have the permits or clearance for this kind of endeavor.

 

If Newt died today, they were in for a world of trouble.

 

“He won’t,” a feminine voice said from the door, and Graves lifted his head to see Queenie standing in the doorway, clutching a bundle of papers to her chest. Graves leaned back in his chair and sighed.

 

“What did I say about reading my mind?”

 

“You’re worrying about him loud enough for half of New York to hear,” she replied, and then she held out the pages. “Look at this.”

 

Graves took the pages from her. It seemed to be a hastily handwritten account of an interview with a wizard whose great-grandfather had attempted to use manticore venom in various potions, trying to find other uses for the potent liquid. He certainly hadn’t had any luck.

 

“So there’s no hope,” Graves said with a huff of frustration, and Queenie shook her head quickly.

 

“Look at the last page.”

 

Graves gave her a skeptical look, but then turned to the last page of the notes. It seemed there was one survivor of the wizard’s mad experiments- someone who’d been given a diluted form of a young manticore’s venom. The patient had evidently suffered greatly for days, but he’d come back to make a full recovery.

 

The other four fed the same concoction hadn’t lasted through the first night.

 

“So…if he lasts the night, he might survive,” he paraphrased, and Queenie nodded with a weak smile.

 

“Yeah. So there is hope.”

 

“Hope based on an interview with a wizard who listened to the crazy ranting of her grandfather about her lunatic great-grandfather doing illegal human experimentation using incredibly rare lethal poisons,” Graves said dryly. He liked solid evidence- and this was anything but solid. It was the very picture of hearsay, passed down over generations of wizards. It was the kind of useless ‘evidence’ he would have the paper mice shred just to keep them entertained to keep them from destroying the actually important papers.

 

“It’s better than nothing. And if anyone can pull through it, it’s him. We should just keep his fever down and keep watch,” she pointed out, taking the papers back from him. “I’m going to have a closer look at these notes and see if there’s anything else about the experiments in them. “

 

She gave him a hopeful look and left again, and Graves took in a deep breath and reached out to check Newt’s temperature again. It wasn’t dangerously high anymore, it seemed, but it hadn’t gone down any, either.

 

He knew better than to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help the slight hope that there was a bit of truth to the accounts in the interview. That there was a chance that Newt could pull through this and come out the other side no worse for the wear.

 

He leaned back in the chair again and grabbed a book at random off the shelves- one about the cultures of Merpeople, it seemed- and settled in for what would probably be a very long night.

 

* * *

 

 

They took shifts watching over Newt through the night. Twice they had to take him back to the tundra habitat to cool him down, with all his creatures watching with subdued worry; the first time Graves saw the Nundu he very nearly had a heart attack, only to find that the monstrously deadly beast was deflated and depressed, pawing at the rock it was laying on as it watched them move Newt back to the bedroom after a while in the snow.

 

Honestly, of course Newt Scamander would carry around a near domesticated Nundu, of all things.

 

Graves was the one on shift when the fever finally started to ebb and Newt came to again, though with equal success to the first time he awakened. It took both Graves and Tina to keep the delirious magizoologist in bed, since the redhead seemed convinced in his delirium that the Jarveys had a Chizpurfle infestation that needed attending to right away.

 

He only calmed once Graves insisted that he would comb every single Jarvey, just in case. And that he would ignore the streams of profanity that the ferret-like creatures constantly spewed. Evidently that was all they knew how to say.

 

The second time he woke up, he was actually somewhat coherent. It took him a few long moments to focus and realize who was sitting beside him, and then a few moments longer to seemingly move past the panic, but then the man relaxed a bit.

 

“Graves…?” he managed, his voice shaky and raw. Graves nodded.

 

“I’m here helping the Goldsteins,” he explained, grateful that Newt hadn’t mistaken him for Grindelwald again. Newt frowned and tried to lift his head, but quickly dropped it back to the pillow with a wince.

 

“What h-happened?”

 

“You were stung by a manticore, Mr. Scamander.”

 

“…and I’m alive?”

 

Graves chuckled. “Seemingly so,” he said, reaching out to press his hand to Newt’s forehead. The sick wizard seemed too out of it to object. “Still running a fever, though.”

 

Quite suddenly, Newt’s eyes widened and he tried to sit up. Graves pushed him back down firmly and gave him a stern look. “You’re in no mood to be moving around, Mr. Scamander,” he scolded, though the words seemed to have little effect.

 

“The manticore,” Newt managed, sounding distraught. “Is he okay? I was trying to treat his wounds…”

 

Graves pulled his hand back and took in a slow, steadying breath. “The creature didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

 

And he actually was sorry. It hurt more than he thought it would, seeing the anguished look on Newt’s face when the words sank in. The redhead swallowed hard, his expression going painfully blank. “I see,” he said, the two words sounding like more of a struggle than any moving he’d done so far.

 

Graves wanted to offer him some comfort, some consolation- like telling him the creature didn’t suffer long, but that would be a lie. The creature had been in immense pain for hours- but so had Newt, it seemed. It turned out, though, that the comfort didn’t need to come from him- Pickett the Bowtruckle emerged from where it had been sleeping nearly in Newt’s hair, and Newt seemed to relax when the creature pressed its limbs to his bare shoulder, inches above the scar where the puncture wound once was.

 

“They’d had it t-tied up in a cage since it was an infant,” Newt said, staring anywhere but at Graves. “They would force it to produce venom, and then sell the venom on the black market. When it inevitably started to run d-dry, they would beat it.”

 

“We’ll find them,” Graves insisted, trying not to think about the manticore, lying on the ground and gasping in its last breaths. “We’ll bring them to justice, Mr. Scamander. You have my word.”

 

“Newt,” the younger wizard said, his eyes flitting to meet Graves’ gaze for the barest of moments before he was looking away again. “You can call me Newt.”

 

Graves smirked. “Then I suppose it’s only fair that you call me Percival. After all, you’re not my employee,” he pointed out, which was the reason he usually scolded Tina for getting too ‘familiar’. Newt nodded once, barely, but his eyes were already falling shut again.

 

“My creatures…?”

 

“Fed and cared for,” Graves insisted. “Rest, Newt. Everything is fine.”

 

The words were unnecessary. By the time Graves finished speaking, Newt had drifted back into a feverish sleep. It took a moment for Graves to realize the redhead was shivering now, despite the fact that his skin still had a sheen of sweat on it.

 

“How is he?” Tina asked from the doorway, and Graves straightened up, trying to mask any concern on his face.

 

“Still haven’t gotten rid of this fever, but he was well enough to hold a conversation for a minute or so,” he said. “Looks like the fever is trying to break.”

 

“His creatures are getting restless,” Tina pointed out with a relieved smile. “The occamy hatchlings are barely putting up with me.”

 

“Then I suppose we’ll have to make sure he recovers,” Graves said. “Though he’ll likely be too weak to do the heavy work for a while.”

 

“As if that will stop him.”

 

“If logic doesn’t stop him, the limits of his body will.”

 

“You would think,” Tina said with an amused look. “Listen, I know you’ve got things to take care of back at MACUSA. I think Queenie and I can handle it from here, if you…”

 

“That’s quite alright,” Graves interrupted her, holding up a hand. “I’ll stay for a while longer.”

 

Tina’s smile widened. “That’s…kind of you, Mr. Graves.”

 

“It took two of us to wrestle him back to the bed when he thought his precious Jarveys might have an itching problem. You think you and Queenie could keep him down if something actually goes awry?”

 

“…point taken,” Tina muttered, and then there was a loud chittering sound somewhere behind her, and she sighed. “That’ll be the occamys again. I’ll be back in a bit. I honestly don’t know how he keeps up with all this.”

 

Graves turned his attention back to Newt as she left, who was still shivering almost visibly when he reached over to check his temperature again. Graves vaguely knew that this was a good sign, that it meant the worst was probably over, but the worry still set deep in him and left him unnerved.

 

He didn’t even realize how hungry he was until Queenie brought them all lunch, and they sat down in the small room together to eat while watching over their recovering patient. Graves knew more about the cultures of Merfolk in Scotland versus the ones in the Mediterranean and the mating habits of Erumpants than he’d ever cared to know, but there wasn’t much else to do while Newt was still unconscious.

 

And it was actually kind of interesting stuff to read- not that he would ever admit to that out loud. He didn’t need to anyway, not with Queenie reading his damn mind at every turn.

 

It was at the tail end of their meal that Newt started to wake up again. He swallowed hard and blinked a few times, though he managed a weak smile when he saw Tina and Queenie.

 

“Tina,” he said, his voice still weak and shaky. “I was…on my way to meet you, I s-swear.”

 

“I know. This is, uh…probably kind of my fault,” she replied, earning a raised eyebrow from Graves and a confused look from Newt. “My Aurors must have spooked those traffickers. They wouldn’t have been moving the creatures so recklessly if we’d been more careful.”

 

Newt’s expression fell. “They have others…?” he asked, and Graves shot Tina a look that warned her to shut up before she said anything else to upset the ill wizard.

 

“Not many,” she amended quickly. “And we’ll find them.”

 

“Here, Newt,” Queenie said, stepping to the bedside with a bowl of soup. “You need your strength. Try and eat a little.”

 

Newt didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of eating, but Queenie wasn’t taking no for an answer, obviously. Graves helped him sit up against the headboard and made sure he didn’t drop the bowl as he sipped carefully at the hot soup.

 

“How are my creatures?” he asked between sips, and Tina laughed.

 

“They miss their mummy. I’ve been doing my best, but…I’m not you,” she said, and Newt managed a smile.

 

“T-Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me,” he said, making the briefest of eye contact with her. She seemed about to speak when suddenly there was a dull knocking sound from above- and it took a moment for Graves to place it. Someone must be knocking on the lid of the case.

 

“Where did you put the case?” he asked her, and she shrugged.

 

“My office in MACUSA. In case we were needed,” she said, getting up and going to see who was knocking. Meanwhile, Newt had gone quite a bit paler and wide-eyed, and not from sickness; Graves didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking.

 

“It’s alright, Newt,” he said, touching the man’s arm to get his attention. “No one’s going to take your creatures, alright? You’ve done too much for us for them to even consider it. Despite the…highly illegal nature of the contents of this case.”

 

That didn’t seem to calm Newt much. Of course, having read the report of what happened- having his creatures taken, and then being nearly executed- Graves wasn’t surprised in the least.

 

“They’re really not dangerous,” Newt stuttered, and for once he made eye contact with Graves, those green eyes desperate and terrified. “They’re not, I swear.”

 

“Hey. Hey, Newt,” Graves said, and then he took a chance, taking the soup away and setting it aside before reaching up to cup Newt’s face in one hand, trying to ground him. “I promise you, no one here will hurt your creatures or take them away from you. Alright? You have my word.”

 

He didn’t amend that with ‘you have a damn Nundu in this case you absolute madman, what exactly is your definition of dangerous’, however much he wanted to.

 

Newt took in a shaky breath and nodded, and Graves’ hand lingered a moment too long before he pulled it away and leaned back in his chair again. He chanced a look at Queenie- a bad idea, really, given that she was looking at him like the cat who got the cream.

 

Luckily for him, that was when Tina returned with a grave look on her face. “They found the traffickers,” she said. “And they’ve retrieved all but one of the creatures.”

 

“All but one?” Graves repeated, a feeling of dread settling inside him.

 

“A hippogryph,” Tina explained. “They can’t get it under control. It nearly killed one of the Aurors. They might have to…”

 

Her eyes darted to Newt as she hesitated, and when Graves saw the look on Newt’s face, he resisted the urge to sigh. He had a very bad feeling about this.

 

“Well of course they were nearly killed. I imagine t-they’re not following any of the etiquette,” he said, already trying to push the blankets off his legs.

 

“Oh, no, you’re not going out there. Not like this,” Graves objected, only to be pinned with a heated glare from the usually mild-mannered magizoologist.

 

“You want me to let them kill it because they don’t know t-the first thing about hippogryph behavior? I can’t exactly give you a crash course in the intricacies of hippogryph body language, and I’m not letting it die to ignorance, either,” Newt insisted, swinging his long legs off the side of the bed. Graves groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose; it looked like the Goldstein sisters had no good answers, either.

 

“…I’m carrying you,” Graves said, and Newt looked up, startled. Graves stood and went to the chest of drawers, then pulled out a clean shirt and tossed it Newt’s way.

 

“What?” Newt stuttered. Graves picked up the man’s blue coat and cast a quick repair spell on it, and then threw that on Newt’s lap as well. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled Newt’s wand from where it sat in his pocket, and handed that over as well.

 

“I’ll carry you there. You’re in no shape to walk or apparate that far,” he said, his voice as stern as he could possibly make it. He caught Tina’s eye, and found her looking just as startled as Newt was- though Queenie was trying and failing to hide a smile behind her hand.

 

“Ms. Goldstein, go ahead of us and make sure they hold until we get there,” he said to Tina, and she nodded.

 

“It’s in the abandoned subway tunnel under 3rd street. I’ll stall them,” she said, and quick as that, she was gone. Graves turned to Queenie and gave her a look.

 

“Watch over the creatures. We’ll be back soon.”

 

She nodded. “Be careful. I don’t want to have to patch you two up.”

 

By then, Newt had gotten into his shirt and coat. He still looked pale and shaky, and everything in Graves was telling him that Newt was in no condition to be doing this, authority on the subject or not.

 

But then he remembered the look on Newt’s face when he’d told him that the manticore hadn’t survived. Despite the risks, he didn’t want to see that look ever again.

 

He wasn’t going to examine that thought any further. Especially not around Queenie.

 

“Alright. Let’s go,” he said, and then he leaned over and scooped Newt into his arms with practiced ease- though it was the first time he’d done it while the other wizard was conscious. Newt let out a startled yelp and wrapped his arms around Graves’ neck, holding tight, though Graves could feel him still shaking. He felt as though he could feel the fever-heat of his skin even through the man’s clothes.

 

“I’ve never been carried before,” Newt said, and Graves chuckled as he carried the man past Queenie.

 

“Actually, this is the fourth time.”

 

“…what?”

 

“I’ll explain later. Just stop squirming,” Graves said, adjusting his hold on Newt as they got to the exit of the case. Rather than trying to climb like this, he opened the lid of the case with a murmured spell, then wandlessly apparated them to the office above.

 

“Are you sure you’re up for this? Because I’m going to be very, very irritated if you get gored by a hippogryph after all of this,” he asked, and he felt more than heard Newt laugh softly in his arms.

 

“I’m ready, Percival. Let’s go before they harm that p-poor creature.”

 

* * *

 

 

Graves wanted to make this trip as quick as possible, because while Newt was certainly convinced he was up to the task, Graves knew that the second the man was on his own two feet that things would only go downhill from there.

 

After all, it had only been a day since he was first stung by the manticore, and maybe ten hours since his fever was high enough to have to chill in a snowy tundra to keep his brain from boiling.

 

He apparated them to the subway entrance and carried Newt down the stairs, earning shocked stares from the Aurors waiting underground. He could already hear the angry screeching of the hippogryph, and felt Newt stiffen in his arms.

 

“Sir, is he alright…?” one of the Aurors asked with a nervous look at Newt, who definitely looked like he’d recently been knocking on Death’s door. Graves grunted and moved past the Auror without a word, stepping into the main chamber of the subway tunnel.

 

The hippogryph was a marvelous creature, even in its somewhat sorry state. Its feathers were dull, and there was a bald patch around its neck, the skin there red from rope burn. Anytime an Auror got too close, the creature spread its massive wings and screeched loudly, flailing its claws in warning.

 

“Put me down now,” Newt said, more a request than a demand, and Graves took in a deep breath before carefully setting Newt down on his own two feet. The redhead swayed dangerously, grabbing onto Graves to stay upright, and Graves frowned.

 

“There’s no way. We need to think of something else,” he said, but Newt held up one hand, closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them and straightened up.

 

“Let me save this one, Percival,” he said pleadingly, and without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the panicked, furious beast.

 

Graves wanted more than anything to pick him back up and carry him right back to his case, but he held himself back, his heart thudding heavily against his ribs as Newt took unsteady steps toward the hippogryph.

 

But once the half bird creature actually focused on Newt, everything changed.

 

The signs of illness were still there in the wizard- the paleness, the sweating, the slight trembling- but the awkward nervousness and the lack of confidence were completely gone. Once Newt made eye contact with the hippogryph, he held it unerringly.

 

Newt took slow steps forward toward the beast, and the hippogryph watched him, settling down on all fours with wings partially flared. Graves had to remind himself not to interfere as Newt came well within striking distance of those claws.

 

The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Newt bowed slowly before the creature, his eyes not breaking contact, not even to blink. The hippogryph screeched softly, but Newt didn’t waver, didn’t budge.

 

And slowly, ever so slowly, the hippogryph mirrored the wizard, lowering itself into a bow.

 

“That’s it,” Newt said with a bright smile that lit up his freckled features like the sun. “That’s it, girl. No need for fuss. You’re safe now.”

 

Beast and man straightened up, and Newt stepped forward without fear, holding up one shaking hand palm-out. The hippogryph butted its head against the wizard’s hand with a low rumble that sounded like a purr, and Newt chuckled and scratched the hippogryph’s feathers.

 

“I’ll bet you want to go home, don’t you?” he asked, and Graves immediately turned to Tina.

 

“Go get the case,” he said softly, and she apparated away, returning moments later with Newt’s case in hand. Graves took it from her and cleared his throat softly, and Newt glanced over his shoulder, smiling gratefully when he saw the case in Graves’ hand.

 

“Bring it here. It’s quite safe now,” he said, and Graves slowly walked toward the pair, eyeing the hippogryph nervously. Newt turned his attention back to the beast, still petting it like an overgrown cat. “It’s alright. He’s a friend.”

 

That seemed to appease the hippogryph, at least. Graves handed over the case, trying not to be unnerved by the beast’s intense golden stare as Newt set the case down and opened it up.

 

“In you go. We’ll get you cleaned up and back to France in no time,” he said, and the hippogryph seemed to chirp like a hatchling- and then leapt right down into the case. There was a collective sigh of relief in the room- that is, until Graves looked up at Newt and saw the dazed, unfocused look about him.

 

“Newt-!” he said in warning, but then he had to leap forward to catch the redhead as he collapsed, narrowly keeping him from hitting the ground. Newt was burning up again, his condition of course aggravated by the movement and the stress, and Graves cursed under his breath.

 

“Tina, take care of things up here,” he said firmly, and without waiting for an answer, he picked Newt up in his arms- for the fifth time- and apparated them into the case.

 

Queenie was waiting with a worried look when he stepped out of the shack, the hippogryph sitting in an open patch of grass behind her, preening its feathers. “He collapsed?” she asked softly, and Graves snorted.

 

“Are you surprised?” he asked, because he certainly wasn’t. He saw this coming from the moment Tina mentioned there was a terrified, injured hippogryph that might be killed. He stepped into the small living space and laid Newt down on the bed, sitting him up for a moment only to remove his coat and set it aside.

 

“You don’t need to worry so much,” Queenie said from the doorway. “He’ll be alright now.”

 

“Stop it,” Graves snapped, and then he sank into the chair by the bed with a sigh. “Just…stop it. Can you keep it to yourself, at least, if you can’t manage to stay out of my head?”

 

Queenie bit her lip and hesitated, but seemed to think better of pushing the subject. She turned and left, and Graves let out a harsh breath and ran his fingers through his hair, looking back down at the unconscious wizard on the bed.

 

He didn’t know what he expected when he thought of Newt Scamander, but despite all the stories, this hadn’t been it. Shy, awkward, with messy hair and green eyes that rarely made eye contact- no, he’d been more expecting the Newt he saw confronting the hippogryph. Steady, confident, an expert in his field to the core.

 

But he wasn’t disappointed. Surprised, but he couldn’t say the differences bothered him. In fact, it was…intriguing.

 

Intriguing. That was all.

 

He reached out to brush that messy hair back from Newt’s forehead, and then he grabbed one of the books on the nightstand, and settled back into the etymology of creature names.

 

It was several hours before Newt awakened again, though by then he was shivering again, his fever dropping as time passed. Graves assured him that the hippogryph was settled in and eating, and then he made sure that Newt ate more of his soup, turning away Tina’s efforts to relieve him of his post. He was invested now, determined to make sure that Newt didn’t do anything else remotely stupid while he was recovering from both ordeals.

 

“You’ve worked with hippogryphs before,” he said to Newt, definitely a statement and not a question. It was obvious Newt knew the beasts well.

 

“My mother bred hippogryphs,” Newt explained, sipping at a cup of tea Queenie had brought by. “Very fussy creatures. Intelligent, but extremely picky. There’s an etiquette you must follow with them.”

 

Graves nodded. “The eye contact. And the bowing.”

 

“Yes, that’s part of it.”

 

“And the other part?”

 

Newt smiled shyly, his eyes darting to Graves’ for only a moment. “Slow movements and pure intentions.”

 

Graves had the briefest, fleeting thought that he was glad Newt wasn’t a hippogryph, and then he heard a thud and a burst of laughter from Queenie out by the Erumpant pen. Graves pressed his hand over his face, getting ahold of himself and ignoring the confused look on Newt’s face.

 

“Right. Just…no more excursions to rescue animals for a while? I’d hate for the creatures here to lose their mu-…their owner,” he said, correcting himself in time to save some embarrassment, but not to rescue him from another round of chuckling from Queenie outside. With a wave of his wand, he slammed the door shut to the small living area, hoping that maybe it would dull her perception of his thoughts and give him a break for once.

 

“No more excursions,” Newt agreed, though he still looked a little confused and flustered.

 

A silence hung in the air for just a beat too long, turning into something awkward, something full of a strange anticipation until Graves cleared his throat.

 

“Finish your soup. You need your strength,” he said, grabbing a book at random to desperately try and focus his attention elsewhere. Newt’s eyes flickered down to the title, and he smiled just a little.

 

“Researching the mating calls of clabberts, Percival?”

 

“…eat your soup, Newt.”

 

And so it went for the next three days. Tina and Graves took turns looking after Newt, looking after the beasts, and keeping Newt from looking after the beasts, which became more and more difficult as he became less sick. Graves was relieved when Newt was finally recovered enough to work for a few hours at a time before becoming too tired to continue- more than once, Graves found him leaning against the mooncalf rocks or sitting against a resting Graphorn, fast asleep. Graves would carry him back to the bed then, much to the amusement of Tina and Queenie.

 

Graves didn’t realize how attached he’d become until it came time that Newt didn’t need their help anymore. He still got tired quicker than usual, but he was capable of handling things all the same. Graves found himself standing outside MACUSA, Newt with case in hand, shifting his weight and avoiding Graves’ gaze as they said their goodbyes.

 

“So…I suppose this is it, then. It was, uh…a pleasure to meet you, Percival,” Newt said, a nervous smile on his face. “Thank you, for everything. I think my beasts are rather fond of you.”

 

“No need to thank me,” Graves pointed out. “We’re even now. You saved my life, remember?”

 

Newt laughed softly. “Suppose I did,” he said, nothing but humble, as usual. Another awkward silence, another fleeting moment of eye contact. “I…goodbye, then,” he added, and just as he turned, Graves felt his chest tighten, and he stepped forward.

 

“Would you stay?” he asked suddenly, and then he hesitated, feeling his cheeks go a bit red. This wasn’t like him at all, being anxious like this. “I mean, until we finish the case with these traffickers. We might need your expertise again.”

 

Nice save, he thought, even as he tried to convince himself that it was a perfectly logical request with no ulterior motive.

 

Newt turned around, and the smile on his face was just that much brighter as he met Graves’ gaze.

 

“I’d like that.”


End file.
